


I Don’t Know If My Mom Loves Me Anymore

by persicum



Series: No More Shame, No More Fear, No More Dread [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Coming Out, Emotional, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, this is very emotion heavy but has some happier moments too!!! its not all sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 18:37:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15668955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persicum/pseuds/persicum
Summary: "I don’t know if my mom loves me anymoreShe says that I am changing, I am not what she bargained for"-Eric Richard Bittle loves his mother very much, and one of his most terrifying fears is the possibility that she would ever stop loving him back. That is a hard fear to navigate when you're gay.Or 5 times when Bitty tries to come out to his mother + the 1 time he finally does.





	I Don’t Know If My Mom Loves Me Anymore

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary lyrics taken from the song [Survival](https://adultmom.bandcamp.com/track/survival) by adult mom, a great song!! Go check it out.
> 
> This is a story about coming out (obviously) and the emotions that go with that process but also the emotions that go with being not straight and navigating that within one's relationship with their parents. With some (subtle) bits about prioritizing one's parents over oneself, and the impact of being young and gay and having no real/close friends, and how one grows when dealing with situations like that!
> 
> This chapter takes place when Bitty is 13, which is the beginning of eighth grade for him.

Eric still isn’t even sure, and he sure as Hell isn’t comfortable with _it_ , the first time he really tries to tell his mother.

It’s a Friday night after one of his daddy’s games, and him and Mama are up baking. It's a quiet moment, which isn’t exactly rare for them, not common either as they both have a penchant for talking, but it is comfortable. The atmosphere is teeming with a soft intimacy, something Eric rarely gets outside of his mother, which is what sets Eric off in the first place.

Coach came home not too long ago and is probably in bed by now, but Eric’s Mama is still up and with him. She brushes a hand in his hair with affection, runs a tender hand down his back every so often, and Eric feels warm and adored and whole and for some reason that could almost make him cry— he just feels so utterly _loved_.

It’s late so Eric’s vulnerable, and frustrated with himself, because he’s trying to enjoy this time with his Mama and yet he still has that thought in the back of his mind. That he’s undeserving of this love, but more than that he is overwhelmingly alone. Eric feels that he could tell her, that he should tell her, because the words being spat by boys at him sting even more than usual, and he has no one else to talk to; his Mama has always been his best friend, talking to himself hasn’t helped, and he just feels so absolutely isolated, lost in his confusion, his pain, his disgust.

Eric knows he can’t be gay but that doesn’t mean he isn’t.

And usually the thought of his parents knowing what he might be paralyzes him, fills him with almost the same exact cold, pure terror of an impending hit. The way the seconds stretch, the total confusion only to be followed by the horrible realization of pain to come— not knowing how badly it's going to hurt but knowing the pain is imminent and having no way to prevent that, the knowledge that the worst is about to occur to him and having no option but to accept it, because fighting back only causes more pain, only adds to these endless moments of despair and helplessness. 

The consuming anxiety of the moment, the way the whole of outcome is unknown but suffering is guaranteed, is exactly what coming out is to Eric. It is the worst punch he could ever have thrown at him.

But for some reason in the quiet of the kitchen, filled with his Mama’s humming, Eric feels like he could tell her how terrified he is. Tell her how he has this part of him that he doesn’t want, isn’t even entirely sure of, but for some reason his brain will not stop thinking about. He wants to tell her how his heart sings at the kindness of boys, the way he can’t seem to look away from them, and just how afraid he is of it all, his heart racing in both joy and dread during those moments.

Eric wants to tell his Mama more than anything in this moment because she loves him, has always protected him from what he fears, and he just feels so sure that she’ll sit him down and hold him as the tears begin. That she’ll brush a hand in his hair consolingly, run a comforting hand down his back, just like she’s been doing all night, and help him somehow figure this out because Eric needs someone to hold him up before he drowns in all this mess of shame and confusion and guilt. Eric needs _her_.

The lump in Eric’s throat has formed without his permission, and he realizes he’s stopped working on the lattice for the apple pie they’re making for his aunt’s house tomorrow— a promise of syrupy sweetness with a tart, crisp finish, and now he feels awful because he doesn’t want the pie to carry an underlying taste of misery.

“Dicky? Honey?” his Mama places her hand on his arm and Eric feels himself jump in response to both her words and touch. 

“Are you feelin’ alright?”

Eric attempts to swallow the lump down, his eyes hot and throat dry and it hurts, too much pressure in all the wrong places, he manages to inject some sleepy cheer into his voice, “Yeah Mama! Of course, I just got lost in my mind for a bit, you know how I am.”

“Hmm,” she hums as she rubs such a gentle, loving hand up and down his arm. Eric feels so fully raw right now, like his heart was ripped from his chest and it managed to get scraped every which way during the crude process. He feels cut open, exposed, but all the wrong parts are the ones poking through, the ugly ones that aren’t for others to see because even Eric doesn’t love them.

“Yes, but you also have that face on, the one that tells me you’re a few seconds away from really crying. The face you’d always have after you scraped your knees real bad, or couldn’t find your bun— the one that always showed up when your daddy and I were going out and wouldn’t be home to put you to bed. I know that face, baby,” her voice is liquid, full of kindness in the way it is when recalling stories of his childhood, but it doesn't escape Eric the blatant concern that lies in it.

Eric turns his head to look at her, and as the genuine worry in her face, and the gentle tone and care of her words washes over him the lump in his throat gets too large, tears start to violently well up in his eyes, his voice breaks as both a single word and sob escapes him.

“Mama—” he brings up a hand to press against his eyes as he tilts his head up, as if this will stop the tears even with them beginning to roll down his cheeks, burning tiny paths in their wake.

“Oh my baby boy, my Dicky, what is wrong, dear? What happened? I thought we were havin’ a good night,” she fully wraps her arms around him and rests her head in the crook of his neck.

“Mama,” he says in a trembling voice. Eric is breathless yet his breaths are overtaking his body, they’re heaving and deep, “I just—, I have to tell you.” He can feel the seconds stretch, the horrible impact impending, the potential pain blooming.

“I—, _I’m_ —” he can’t say it, he just cannot, not while his Mama still loves him, sometimes she is all he has and Eric can’t lose that, he cannot lose her just because he’s weak.

“Mama,” he wraps his arms around her, lets out a pathetic whimper, and completes their embrace, “I just love you so much, okay? I love you.” And it’s not untrue.

His Mama pulls her head back slightly to look at him, and begins to laugh lightly with shaky relief.

“Oh! Oh, Dicky, sweetheart, you had me quite worried. It is really not like you to cry like this over nothing,” his Mama takes a deep breath in, full in relief, full in emotion, and lays her head back onto his shoulder, mirroring the way Eric is holding her.

“And I love you too, baby. I love you so, _so_ much. More than words could ever say.”

She presses a kiss to the crown of his head, squeezes him a little tighter as she sways her body with his in comfort, and Eric just cries even harder.

**Author's Note:**

> I should be updating about every week, I write a chapter a week in advance to publishing so hopefully I can keep that drive up. This fic means a whole bunch to me for lots of reasons so I think that helps in motivating me.
> 
> (I know Bitty says Mama a lot but this is a fic about his Mama, and yes Mama is capitalized always because it is a symbolic capitalization to emphasize how important she is to Bitty. Suzanne also drops her "g" at the end of certain words bc she is a bit sleepy and comfortable and it is something we have seen Bitty do while feeling the same way.)
> 
> (Also this isn't beta read and also I'm rusty with writing fiction so please be gentle, that being said if there are any major spelling errors or something doesn't read right please let me know! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!)


End file.
